


Consolation Prizes

by queerhealer



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: (?), Angst, Hanahaki Disease, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-21 19:41:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11364297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerhealer/pseuds/queerhealer
Summary: The first petals come up two weeks after Genji steals his first kiss.





	Consolation Prizes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vienamarie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vienamarie/gifts).



> For the shimadacest exchange on tumblr! my secret partner was elainapoststhings/vienamarie--i hope you enjoy this! i tried to keep it to the 2k constraint as best i could. sort of continuation off of 'somewhat warm & semi-sweet' but that doesn't really have to be read to catch what's up here.

The first petals come up two weeks after Genji steals his first kiss. 

Sakurasou petals--he recognizes them from Hanamura’s springtime blooms. A pretty, vibrant shade of purple. Or, he thought, it would be if they hadn't just torn up through his throat, bringing with them a violent and embarrassing sort of coughing fit. He was just grateful that he'd been alone in his room for the first attack, and not in the presence of the clan, or, God forbid, his Father. How utterly  _ pathetic _ he would seem, the next Shimada heir falling victim to what could only be described as literal lovesickness. 

Humiliation aside, he was also certain that they would make him remove it surgically. Of course, taking that route would also mean than any semblance of feelings he’d had before would leave along with the flowers, never to return again.

And Hanzo wasn’t completely certain that was something he desired. 

Granted, the object of his affliction was none other than his  _ brother _ . Genji, who had kindly offered to kiss him once so that he could say he’d at least experienced it before twenty, probably out of pity for his older brother and nothing more. 

As he sat on the edge of the bed, staring at loose petals gathered in his open palm, he decided that this would be something he dealt with himself. Genji would never know-- _ could  _ never know. Developing feelings of that sort for a relative was one thing, especially one that was as close to him as Genji was, he decided. But developing a  _ disease _ over them, one that Hanzo had only heard of in stories, one that could very well kill him if it didn’t get dealt with one way or another, was another thing entirely. 

It was just punishment, he supposed. He was never supposed to love anyone like that in the first place, not without the clan’s say-so. If the universe was even slightly merciful towards him, the Hanahaki would dissipate on its own, just as feelings themselves sometimes did. 

Hanzo was left with the feeling that that was much too large of an _ If _ to bank on. 

 

* * *

 

The universe was not to be merciful towards him. 

The second fit comes over him on his way out of a family meeting. The hanahaki is not so severe yet that it cannot be covered up. Only a few petals come with the coughs, which, while definitely not a good thing, gives him at least hope enough to think that maybe, perhaps there’s a chance that this could go away on its own. At the very least, he can hide it in his palm until he can get away from prying eyes. 

It’s not too hard, he reasoned. A lingering cough could be easily brushed off by most of the elders, even his father (he could only blame it on that for so long though--eventually he would need a better excuse. Best not to focus on that for now, though). But Genji would be a challenge in of himself. His brother was far too observant. He’d seen right through him when it came to the whole ‘never been kissed’ matter before. Who’s to say that he wouldn’t pick up on this?

He hated to imagine the pitying looks Genji would give him. He could practically hear it in his mind now,  _ Oh Anija _ , he’d sigh, giving him ‘that look’ the whole while. 

_ Oh Anija, who’s hurting you like this?  _

And he wants to scream, sitting at the meeting table and listening to his father drone on about something he could never hope to focus on. He wants to scream because god, it is so deliciously unfair that the one thing he’s ever wanted--ever  _ allowed _ himself to want--can and will never be his. And it’s not like he even has to try for it either, the flowers that fill his chest already have his answer. 

He catches sight of Genji sitting a few seats over, and turns away to inconspicuously cough into his hand, crushing the flower petals in it when he lowers it down. 

 

* * *

 

It gets worse much faster than he anticipates. 

He researches it, he does, but he’s limited in what he can find. For a disease based on unrequited love, it’s surprisingly uncommon. Perhaps this is because not many people would allow themselves to pine so stupidly, preferring to accept their situation and move on. Most of what he turns up on it is written in fairy tales and legends, much to his dismay. The rest is a few scattered medical records of the removal process. No where does he find answers about whether or not it can vacate on its own. 

Genji is the first to catch him, doubled over in the hallway, hand pressed desperately to his mouth to suppress the coughing. Of course it’s Genji--who else would it possibly be?

_ Another fitting punishment for all of this _ , he thinks dryly. 

Surprisingly, though, Genji doesn’t say much on the matter.

“Let’s get you cleaned up in the bathroom,” he says as he places a hand on his shoulder, guiding him to straighten up.

Once more, he wishes he could scream. 

“So…” Genji begins. It’s awkward. But then, he hadn’t really been equipped to deal with something like this. 

There’s blood on Hanzo’s hand and sleeve, along with bits of bloodied petals. He’s a little horrified at the rate it’s going--how long had it been since the first bout? Three weeks? If even that. It was insidious and little wonder that people reached for removal first. 

“So,” Hanzo repeats, averting his eyes from where Genji’s wiping off his bare skin.

“Who’s doing this to you, Anija? Who do I have to hunt down?” He jokes. It’s strained, he can tell. There’s more concern in his voice than anything else and that makes Hanzo’s chest constrict and he prays that he isn’t overwhelmed by more petals right now and--

_ Oh. There it is. _

He’s hacking again, folded in half onto himself and covering his own lap in petals in blood and god it _ burns _ , it fucking burns worse than it ever has before. It lasts more seconds than he can count. 

Genji’s watching the gruesome scene with wide, horrified, sympathetic eyes. He waits for Hanzo’s fit to pass before he says anything to him. 

“Anija--” he starts. He doesn’t get a chance to finish. 

“ _ Leave me _ ,” he hisses, obviously pained but more enraged than anything else. “ _ NOW!! _ ” His voice booms out and makes the bathroom mirror shake. Genji looks hurt, he was just trying to  _ help _ , but deep down Hanzo knows that being close to him is only going to make his condition worse (a conclusion that he can’t share because, well, it would be the same as a confession). And on a more selfish level, he doesn’t want to see Genji look at him like that. Better to drive a rift between them now. If Hanzo allows himself to die from this, he figures that it’s better to let Genji hate him until the last day the let him know how much he loves him. 

They don’t speak for three weeks after this. 

 

* * *

 

 

Those three weeks are absolute agony for Hanzo. 

He thought, perhaps, if he distanced himself, it would get better. 

That was a lie. 

It did not. 

Instead, he faded more. The fits became more frequent. He looked thinner, paler, gaunt. The elders had begun to notice, and so had his father. He vehemently refused to be examined, however. 

“I am fine,” he lied, skirting away from grabbing hands and hard looks. “Fine,” he would repeat more harshly, “Just tired.” 

_ You are such a bad liar, Anija. _

That’s what Genji would say to him, if he were on speaking terms with him. But they were not. Something in his voice three weeks ago, whatever it had been, had been enough to convince him to stay away. They still occasionally saw each other during family meetings, or would sometimes pass by in the hall, and Hanzo would have to excuse himself momentarily to retch up petals before returning. His voice was always so raw afterwards, and if not for his sickly appearance, he was sure that that was telling enough of his condition. 

And it’s always worse when Genji is near, he’s noticed that. Just a quick glance is enough to send him reaching for the cloth he uses to catch stray blood drops. 

He’s sure Genji has noticed it too. 

 

* * *

 

 

The worst of it hits him practically out of nowhere. 

It hits him at once that morning, the overwhelming dizziness and faintness. 

He’s not one to take a personal day for himself, ever. But this time he feels as though he needs to. 

Everyone is dismissed from his room. The maids with breakfast are sent away, as are the ones with lunch and dinner. He doesn’t plan on leaving the bed if he can help it. He silently shoots a thank you to whatever higher power that made his father take a business trip that morning. 

He immediately revokes the thank you when he hears the knock at his door. Cursing internally, he manages to croak out a hoarse  _ Go away _ , which is really the best he can do at the moment. Logically, he knows that Sakurakusou don’t have thorns, but it certainly feels as though they do when they make their way up one’s esophagus. It’s gotten more painful now that he’s coughing up whole flowers instead of just their petals (not that the individual petals have stopped--rather, they’ve simply been added to, much to his annoyance). 

The person behind the door does not leave, and he’s tempted to send them away  _ again _ , this time much more harshly (as harsh as he can muster), except, he knows that this person won’t listen. 

“Anija,” he breathes.

Hanzo stares at him wordlessly. 

“You look like shit,” he informs him, tilting his head to the side and narrowing his eyes, scrutinizing every inch of Hanzo’s dilapidated appearance. 

He’s sitting up in bed now, legs still covered by the thin blanket. “Thank you for the observation,” he says dryly, and then, “Do you need something?” With no hints of emotion. He’s sickly proud of himself for not having coughed yet.

But then Genji’s face falls, and Hanzo can feel it stirring in his chest. “I’m worried about you--you, I mean, you’ve always been an asshole, but this is--” He bites his lower lip and turns away. Hanzo fears that if he opens his mouth to respond, he’ll start up again, and it’ll be the worst yet. 

“God fucking  _ damn, _ Hanzo, why are you letting this happen to yourself?” He snaps, and Hanzo blinks in surprise--Genji may have his lively moments, but as a general rule, he was the more easygoing one. 

“Why do you keep going on like this? Get it removed already! Or, you know--” He doesn’t want to finish the sentence, Hanzo can tell.  _ Or you’ll die _ is the unspoken ending. 

He decides to risk opening his mouth. “I can’t do that.” It’s whispered, self-contained so as to not let any of the flowers gurgling about in his lungs out. 

“And why the fuck not?” Genji sighs when it becomes clear that he won’t be getting an answer, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Then why not just--why not just tell them, then you’ll know, and it’ll either go away or you can just get rid of it peacefully. I just don’t--”

 “Just don’t _what_ , Genji?” His brother’s words made him bristle, and in the moment he no longer cares about the coughing. “Don’t understand? How could you? You’ve always been able to have whomever you wish, the masses falling at your feet--” He’s cut off by more flowers. They’re mostly whole, and they bring up a whole lot of sticky blood with them. Genji moves to assist somehow but gets waved off.  

“You don’t get it,” he grits out, fists balling in his blanket as excess blood drips out of his mouth and onto the flowers in his lap. “You don’t. And so you have no right to dictate what I do right now.”

“I think,” Genji says quietly after a beat, “That I understand more than you think.” He looks up at him, eyes watery and voice pleading, crossing the floor towards him. Hanzo finds himself in a crushing hug, face pressed into Genji’s shoulder as his arms keep him locked in place. The scent of his brother is absolutely and divinely overwhelming, and he feels like he’s about to cough up his entire respiratory system. 

“I just don’t want to lose you, Hanzo. I don’t.” It’s whispered so lowly into his hair that he has to strain it to hear over the sick rattling of his chest. 

“But you will,” he tells him, willing his limbs to stay put, because he absolutely cannot allow himself to return the embrace, he won’t. “You will. Because it’s you.” 

The confession spills out before he can stop it, mind muddied by pain and increasingly laboured breathing. He wishes he can yank the words back into his mouth, especially when he feels Genji stiffen around him. 

_ Shit shitshitshit I fucked it all up I fucked it I am so sor-- _

Genji moves faster than his mind does. His brother has shifted them so that Hanzo’s face is turned towards his, open and raw and pained. And then. Oh, and then, the thing Hanzo had been fantasizing about ever since that one fateful night--Genji had taken it upon himself to swoop down and kiss him, passionately, softly, with more love and emotion than Hanzo had ever thought could be transmitted with a pair of lips--it was so much at once and simultaneously not enough, and he finds himself arching needily into the touch. 

“You’re a fucking idiot, Anija,” Genji laughs wetly when he pulls back; he’s been crying, not for long, but enough that his eyes are pink and cheeks wet. “You should have just--God, I should have  _ told  _ you sooner, saved us both all this grief--”

“Told me what?” 

Genji presses a warm kiss to his forehead, and while he’s still confused, he allows it. “I love you too, and yeah, before you ask-- _ like that _ . So stop killing yourself over me, please. I can’t handle this level of your dramatics, Hanzo. You’re gonna be the death of me, I swear.” 

Hanzo blinks dumbly. He’s not quite processing, but then--hasn’t the pain in his chest subsided slightly? Hasn’t the urge to cough violently left him?

“So, all this time then…” He leans back, collapses on his pillows. Genji follows, resting down beside him and facing towards him, gently pushing his hair out of his sweat-beaded forehead. 

“Yeah, Dumbass, all this time. But we can discuss that later. For now just… just sleep, okay? You’ve been through it this past month. Just chill out for now.” 

The last thing he can firmly recall is Genji stealing another kiss from the corner of his mouth, and for the first time in a very long time, he sleeps with a content smile on his face. 


End file.
